


The Brink

by orphan_account



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S2. Hardy visits Miller in Broadchurch and spends the night with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brink

It was as though he’d never left.

Hardy was sitting next to her on the beach, complaining about the weather as he picked at the cod and chips at his side. She couldn’t help smiling as she ate. There was something oddly comforting about his bitter pessimism, something that made her feel secure.

It was like home, really, sitting here with him.

Her gaze drifted along the strands of his tousled brown hair as it moved in the wind. She admired the shape of his nose, his lips, the intensity of his eyes. He caught her staring and she quickly turned away, blushing.

The sun slipped below the horizon and the dripping constellations rose from the ocean, spreading across the sky. Miller got to her feet, dusting the salt from her hands. ‘There’s a place I want to show you,’ she said.

Hardy followed dutifully, walking at her side. He burned hot next to her, his breath forming great clouds of brume in the chilly air. She found herself drawn to him. Her shoulder sometimes brushed his and her fingers just clipped his hand when he swung his arms.

She took him far away from the town to the highest part of the cliffs, where it was completely deserted and the lights of Broadchurch were as distant as the stars in the sky. When they looked across the water, it was impossible to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. Far off, a lighthouse blinked.

‘I told you it was beautiful.’ Miller said. ‘You can see for miles here.’

Hardy did not say anything. He looked into the blue and black expanse, then back to Miller in her bright orange jacket. She walked a little further, to the very edge of the cliff.

‘Don’t go so close to the edge,’ he said, uneasy.

She ignored him, inching closer to the precipice until the updraft of wind struck her, hard and primal. She closed her eyes, spreading her arms and revelling in its power as it tore her hair and clothes with invisible fingers. Far below, the ocean rolled and boomed, gnawing at the coastline with grey wolves’ teeth. The wind was so strong it was almost substantial. She fancied she might fly if she jumped.

Hardy clamped his hand on her shoulder. ‘The ground’s not stable. Come back a bit.’

She dropped her arms. ‘You sound like my mother.’

She retreated until they were sheltered from the sheet of wind sweeping up the cliff face and sat down. ‘This was my favourite spot to come when I was a kid. I used to spend whole afternoons standing on that cliff, just dreaming about what it would be like to fly.’

‘You and I evidently had very different ideas of a good time,’ Hardy responded. She patted the ground next to her and he gingerly folded his legs. The wind and waves keened, creating a sibilant orchestra of elements. Yet where they sat, wrapped in each other’s company, they were safe from its fury.

‘You never answered me before,’ Miller said. ‘Have you been seeing anyone?’

‘I didn’t answer because there’s nothing to tell.’ He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Nothing at all? Come on. There must be something.’

He huffed, blowing air through his nose. ‘I asked out Becca Fisher.’

‘No! Really?’ Miller goggled at him.

‘Aye.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She is currently shagging the vicar. You put it together.’

‘When did you ask her?’

‘Months ago. We were still working on the case.’

‘But why would you ask _her_ out? I mean, I know beggars can’t be choosers, but really, you can _do better_.’

He sighed. ‘I don’t know. She was nice to me. I thought she was flirting, so I…’

‘Propositioned her?’ Miller supplied with a grin.

He made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat.

‘All right, so you asked out Becca Fisher months ago and she turned you down flat. Is that the end of it?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘That’s surprisingly pathetic, even for you.’

‘All right then, let’s turn it back on you. What’s your love life like?'

‘I asked out SOCO Brian,’ Miller confessed.

‘Dirty Brian?’ Hardy looked momentarily disgusted. ‘Oh. So you…’

‘Got spectacularly rejected. And you’ll never guess why.’ She paused for effect. ‘Because he has a girlfriend.’

He seemed amused, though he did not smile. ‘There’s irony for you.’

‘I did have sex with someone,’ she added without warning. ‘When Claire and I went out for drinks. Sorry. Just had to tell someone.’ It took her another moment to admit, ‘I can’t even remember his name.’

‘A one night stand? You didn’t strike me as the type.’

‘It was my first ever. It was awful.’

‘That bad?’

‘I’ve never been one for casual flings. Never really saw the point of sex unless I was in love. But God, I was just so lonely.’ She pulled at the grass with her fingers. ‘Does it get easier? The divorced life?’

‘I wish I could say yes.’

‘Was it always Tess?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You know… was your wife the only one you ever loved, or were there others?’

‘No one _before_ her,’ Hardy said carefully. ‘I mean, I had a few girlfriends when I was younger, but… soon as I met Tess, she was the one.’

‘It was the same with me and Joe,’ Miller reminisced. ‘Soon as I met him. I used to think about how lucky I was. All seems a bit foolish in hindsight.’

‘You had no way of knowing.’

Ellie drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. ‘I know he’s not the man I thought he was. I know that the man I loved never really existed. I don’t miss him, honestly. But I do miss being married. I miss having a husband. I miss having a father for the boys. I miss being able to come home to someone. I miss being _touched._ I miss being in love.’

Hardy stared into the distance, his eyes faraway and misty. ‘You think the pain will go away. Every day you think it’ll stop hurting, but it doesn’t. You just learn to live with it and it becomes this constant presence in your life. An ache. Right here.’

He closed his hand into a fist and placed it over his heart.

‘That’s not exactly comforting.’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Well. Here we are again. The Former Detectives Club. Unlucky in life, unlucky in love.’

‘At least we have each other.’

She smiled faintly at that. ‘This place… the reason I keep banging on about love is because this is where I snogged Joe for the first time. Right here on this very cliff.’

Hardy started at that. ‘Seriously?’

‘It was a November night, so it was bloody freezing,’ Miller continued. _‘_ Our teeth were chattering and our hands were shaking. We were passing some whiskey back and forth to keep warm. I still remember how the stars looked. Like snowflakes, but _burning._ ’

The wind blew her hair into her eyes and she brushed it from her face, staring up at the wide, dark canvas of the sky.

‘This was my favourite spot in the whole world and I was so happy to share it with him. He brought me here for a picnic on our tenth anniversary. We brought Fred here when he was born.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘The baby seagulls were learning to fly that day. We watched them for hours. But then… after I found out what he’d done… suddenly I couldn’t bear to come here anymore. I hated this place. Not just this place. The whole town. My whole town is tainted because of him. My home. There’s nowhere I can go that doesn’t remind me of him. It’s horrific.’ She turned her gaze away from the stars and let it rest upon the wine-dark sea. ‘But I made a decision the other day. This is _my_ home, not his, and I won’t let him take it from me. I’m going to stay here and I’m going to fill it with new memories. I’m going to take it back from Joe, one piece at a time.

‘That’s why I brought you here,’ she concluded, folding her hands into her lap. ‘So we could make a new memory here. A memory of something nice. I don’t want to think of him when I’m here next. I want to think of you.’

‘Does that count as a nice memory for you?’ he murmured. ‘Being with me?’

She could not meet his eye. ‘Mmm.’

‘So I’m not “bloody terrible company?” after all?’

‘Oh, you didn’t take that to heart, did you?’ Miller rolled her eyes. ‘Look, you can be an arsehole sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like spending time with you.’

‘Not the most flattering way to put it.’

‘Well, enough about me. Let’s turn it back on you again. There must be _someone_ you’ve got your eye on. Some tawdry story. Some love affair you’re not telling me about.'

‘There’s only one woman in the world for me.’

The lights of Broadchurch shimmered across the water, blinking and dancing on the waves. ‘Your wife,’ Miller supplied softly, a mote of sadness colouring her words.

Hardy did not respond.

‘I should have realised. I’m sorry. I feel bad for asking all those questions now, when you’re obviously still in love with Tess. Well. Have you spoken to her about it? You’re not going to get anywhere unless you tell her.’

‘Not my wife,’ he grunted.

‘Ex-wife, sorry,’ Miller went on. ‘It’d be for the best, really, if you got back with her. But promise me you’ll be careful. I do like Tess, but the way she cheated on you makes me worry. There’s never an excuse for it. If you’ve got problems with your partner, you should just be honest _._ Just _talk_ to them _._ I’m willing to believe she won’t do it again, but if you’re going to get back with her you need to make sure -’

‘It’s not my wife,’ Hardy repeated, louder this time. A buoy clanged in the distance. Somewhere far off they heard the sound of a freighter’s horn, melancholy as a whale. Hardy took a deep breath. ‘The woman. It’s not Tess.’

‘Then who is it?’

Hardy made a face. He looked like he was in terrible pain. Miller flattened her unruly hair with one hand and looked curiously at him.

‘Hardy?’

He groaned and leaned back, pressing his weight on his hands.

‘Is it someone I know?’ she prompted.

‘You could say that.’

Miller’s fingers crept across the grass. She placed her hand on top of his.

‘Tell me about her.’

He looked sharply at her. His hand quivered underneath hers. He swallowed. ‘I haven’t known her all that long,’ he said. ‘And to be honest, she drives me mad a lot of the time. Always fighting me and contradicting me. But,’ He took his weight off his arm and adjusted his position so his body faced towards her. He turned his hand over and caressed her palm with his fingertips. ‘I can’t imagine my life without her.’

‘Have you told her?’ Miller murmured. She responded in kind to his touch and traced circles on his hand.

‘No.’ He inched closer to her. The mist from their breaths mingled.

‘Maybe you should.’

The freighter horn blared again, slipping further into the distance. Hardy stared into her eyes and clasped her hand tightly. With his other hand, he slowly reached for her and caressed her cheek. His nails scraped across her temple as he pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. His index finger traced her ear, slid along her jawline, and tilted her chin upwards.

He closed the gap between their faces by degrees, his eyes constantly flicking over her for any sign of resistance. Only when she closed her eyes in anticipation and leaned forward did he allow himself to bridge those final few centimetres and cover her mouth with his.

Gentle. He was so gentle. His lips were soft, at odds with the scratchy stubble on his chin. Miller parted her lips and he pressed his tongue just inside her mouth. Her tongue rose to meet it and the kiss deepened.

It only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back.

‘Is that okay?’ he asked, his brown eyes searching.

Miller did not answer him. Shifting her position so she was on her knees, she gripped his lapels and kissed him again.

He had been content to love her as the moon loves the earth, content to orbit her, be with her, fill her with whatever light he had to give. Touching her was a privilege he never thought he would have. With equal parts reverence and hot desire, Hardy pushed her down and ran his hands over her body, grinding his palm against the front of her pants. The other felt its way under her shirt. His freezing fingers on her stomach made her gasp.

After almost a minute, Miller surfaced from the kiss.

‘Not here,’ she breathed, pushing his hands away. ‘Come home with me. The boys are at Lucy’s. We can…’

She broke off. Hardy nodded once, panting. Miller stood and pulled him upright. He did not let her hand go once he’d regained his feet, but clung to it possessively.

‘Your back’s all wet,’ he commented.

‘And you’ve got mud up your trousers,’ she said.

They looked at each other and burst into giddy, nervous laughter.

‘Look at us. We’re like a couple of kids,’ Miller said.

Hardy put his hands on her waist. Standing on tiptoes, Miller kissed him. Then she threaded her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

‘Come home with me,’ she murmured again, and he obeyed her gladly, trailing after her like a ship following a beacon.

As they hurried back towards Broadchurch, neither of them spoke, afraid that words would break whatever fragile spell was binding them together. Hardy quietly placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

They crossed the field behind Miller’s home, moving like fugitives past the Latimer house. As they hurried to the front door, the nervous energy between them changed, flaring up with sudden heat. Miller put the key in the lock, turning to Hardy as she did so, and he kissed her beneath the lintel.

‘Wait.’ Hardy reluctantly pulled back, breaking the enchantment. ‘I want you to be sure.’

Miller hooked her fingers through his belt loop, pulling him forward while his fingers danced up her arm. They leaned towards each other and moved apart, drifting back and forth like anemone combed by sea current.

‘We don’t have to,’ he said. ‘Are you sure?'

For the second time that night, Miller found herself standing on the brink.

This time, however, she jumped.

‘I want you,’ she said.

It was all he needed to hear. He cornered her in the doorframe, took her face in both hands and kissed her hard. Trepidation dissolved into desperation and suddenly it was all clashing teeth and clawing nails. They scrabbled to open the door and positively burst into the house. Somehow they made it to the stairs and Miller climbed up a few steps. Hardy took advantage of her new height by burying his face into her breasts while Miller pressed her lips against his forehead and tangled her fingers in his hair. He stripped her jacket off and tore at her shirt. A button popped loose and skittered on the wooden floor.

Leaving a trail of clothes in their wake, they made it to the bedroom. In seconds they were completely naked and pressed hard against one another. No amount of physical contact seemed to be enough. Their skin melded, their bodies merged. Neither of them bothered to turn the lights on. Moonlight splashed onto the bed, and its greyish lustre was enough.

He laid her down on the bed and pressed his weight upon her body, his mouth locked on hers. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled into her hair and nipped and sucked at her neck. His hands smoothed over her arms and belly and breasts, soaking in the gentle warmth of her skin. Grasping one of her breasts, he rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she gasped.

It was strange at first. Even after all this time, they were still programmed to suit another person’s body and it took effort for them to readjust and shake off the ghosts of their former lovers that haunted their fingers and lips. Miller felt shy beneath his hands. She’d never had any reason to feel embarrassed or self-conscious in front of Joe; they’d been together for thirteen years and had known all the little imperfections of each other's bodies. But as Hardy brushed the caesarean scar on her midriff and found the stretch marks on her thighs, all those proud badges of motherhood, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of embarrassment.

He took one of her nipples in his mouth, laving it on his tongue until it hardened.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, and she trembled.

He was so _different_ from Joe, all hard angles and lean muscle and unkempt hair. She loved that hair the most, the way it tickled her when he kissed her body, the way it felt between her fingers. She loved his beard and the tingling sensation it made when it grazed her skin.

She squeezed his firm buttocks with one hand, and wrapped the other around his cock. He was about an average size, comfortably filling the length of her hand, but thicker than Joe. She hated herself for her continual comparisons to her ex-husband, but after thirteen years with the same man it was hard not to.

Was he thinking of Tess, she wondered? Was he comparing her to his wife? She sought answers in his eyes, but all she could see in them was her own face reflected back.

‘Don’t,’ Hardy groaned and caught her hand after she had given his cock a few hard strokes. ‘I’ll…’

‘Sorry,’ she said.

He waived her apology with a hard kiss, savouring the feel of her swollen lips on his tongue. His palm ground against her mound and his blunt fingers parted her folds. He pressed one finger inside, then another.

‘Ah,’ she gasped.

He stilled. ‘Are you okay?’

She nodded breathlessly and hooked a leg around him, drawing him closer. At her encouragement, he pushed further between her damp curls. The air was thick with the smell of her. He kissed his way down her soft body. Wrapping one arm around her upper leg, he pulled her close to him and lowered his head.

She moaned when she felt his beard scrape up the inside of her thigh. Then he flattened his tongue against her, easing two fingers in and out as he did, and her back arched. She gripped his hair with one hand and squeezed tight, her muscles clenching around him.

 _Tess liked it like this,_ he thought as he went to work, adding a swirl, a twist of his fingers, a circle with his tongue. But she wasn't Tess, and she liked it different. His keen detective’s mind whirred to life, piecing together the evidence from the alternating pressure of her hand in his hair, the quivering and tightening of her body and the pitch of her cries. He soon had her figured out and she began to melt at his touch, squirming and panting under his quick, clever ministrations.

She wasn't Tess. She was Ellie.

She was the ocean, and he wanted to drown in her.

Her breath hitched and she threw her head back. She was close. He could feel it. He unhooked his arm from around her thigh and reached for her, clasping her hand where it clawed at the mattress. She locked her fingers through his and looked down to find him staring up at her, his eyes bright in the darkness. She stopped breathing, teetering on the brink. Then he crooked his fingers hard and sucked in just the right place.

One hand pulled his hair, the other clung to his hand. Her back arched again and she cried out, gasping as the waves swept through her. Then she slumped back, delirious.

Hardy untangled himself and crawled forward. He hovered above her, hypnotised by the rise and fall of her chest. He wished he could tell her how much he loved her, how much he loved the feel of her, the taste of her, how much he loved being with her like this and how much he loved knowing that _he_ had given this pleasure to her.

‘You make funny noises,’ he said instead.

Miller smacked his chest, giving a weak, shaky laugh. Then she drew him down and sucked hungrily on his earlobe. ‘I want to hear yours.’

She flipped him onto his stomach and straddled him. Holding his cock in her hand, she gently guided it into herself. She struggled with his girth for a few seconds before finally sliding down the full length of him.

‘Fuck,’ Hardy groaned.

She pressed her torso flush against his and kissed him, her hips undulating side to side, getting used to the feel of him. His beard was damp. She could taste herself on his lips. Another groan escaped him.

‘How long has it been?’ she asked. ‘Since your last?’

‘You’re seriously asking me that now?’

She sat back up, pinched his nipples and pressed down on his chest for leverage, her nails scraping up and down his body as she moved. ‘Just curious.’

His hands gripped her thighs, guiding her. As they moved together, she leaned down to his mouth, just teasing his lips before moving away. They changed position slightly and Hardy sat upright, using the bed frame as a brace. He wrapped his arms around her and when she began flagging, he assisted by jerking upwards, pushing harder and deeper into her. Their foreheads pressed together, their laboured breaths mingled in the cold air. She could feel the sweat running down his back. To her surprise she could also feel the pressure building inside of her again. She almost never had multiple orgasms. She dug her nails hard into Hardy’s back while his teeth nipped at her throat.

‘Alec,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Alec, I’m…’

  _Alec._ How he hated that name. How he loved to hear it dripping from her lips when he had her possessed like this.

She came a second time. Like a cresting wave sweeping a swimmer into the deep, her orgasm crashed around her and forced the breath from her lungs. Her fluttery gasps died in her mouth.

It was enough to push him over the edge. A single coherent word manifested itself. _‘Ellie.’_

She rolled off him and they lay side-by-side, panting. As their breathing slowed, the waves of heat receded from their bodies and the cold night air settled on them, sharp and silver.

‘You never told me,’ she said, still gasping slightly. ‘Who’s the woman you’re so in love with?’

Hardy groaned and covered his face with his arm. ‘You are _impossible_ ,’ he said.

She laughed at him, then pulled back the covers and slid into the bed. Hardy followed her lead and they lay on their sides, facing each other. With one hand, Miller bridged the distance between them, touching his beard and tracing his lips with her fingertips.

‘Alec.’ His true name tasted strange on her tongue. Smiling, she said, ‘I love you too.’

He gathered her into his arms in one motion and buried his face in her hair and shoulder. He smelled sweaty, musky. The metallic tang of his aftershave still clung to him, distinctly unpleasant compared to his warm, human smell.

Her thoughts drifted to Joe once more. She had shared her life, her love, her body and her very _womb_ with a paedophile, the man who had murdered her best friend’s son. And she felt _tainted,_ inside and out. She had almost convinced herself that the taint was physical, that it manifested itself in smell or taste or sight. She had convinced herself that no one could ever love her again. For how could they? How could anyone love the murderer’s ex-wife?

In Hardy’s arms, those questions seemed pointless.

‘You’re smiling,’ she commented.

‘Don’t say that like it’s a big deal.’

‘It sort of is for you.’ She stroked his hair. ‘How long have you felt this way?’

‘Don’t remember.’ His fingers pressed into the nodules of her spine, moving up each one in turn, like he was trying to catalogue every piece of her. ‘After we closed the Broadchurch case, I think.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

Hardy seemed genuinely confused by the question. He drew back and looked her in the eye. ‘Because you’re you,’ he answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Miller hid her smile by nuzzling her nose against his.

‘Well, what about you? How long?’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. She rested her forehead on his. ‘All I remember… when we shook hands to say goodbye… I never wanted to let you go.’

'Mm,' he said, and she knew he felt the same way.

She flattened her hand over his heart, her fingers tracing the shape of the pacemaker, the horizontal scar below his collarbone, and the tiny puckers that marked where the stitches had pulled his broken pieces back together. He twisted a lock of her curly hair around his fingers and kissed her cheek, her eyelid, her brow.

It wasn’t that Alec Hardy’s love fixed her. He simply made her realise she wasn’t broken in the first place.

They left the curtains open and made the moon and the rainy constellations witnesses to their love.


End file.
